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Still following.

missEmjay: i'm an avid reader and having read a lot of books, i'll recommend any agatha christie's book for those who love detective stories and even if you don't, i still recommend her books. share your favorite books/authors too.

I have almost fifty of her books in paperback. My most favourite of her books are:

And then there were None
Murder on the Links
The Murder of Roger Ackroyd
Murder on the Orient Express

I also created a detective too:

First Nigerian abiding fictional detective: Detective Lot.

I recommend any Irving Wallace book.

rapmike: All Hail Det. Lot.

The maid sounded pretty interesting. An ex-soldier's Daughter? There is more to her than it looks.

Let's wait and see. Thanks for following.

maputohq: Waiting for the next update...

LOL! Updated.

pricelesslove: Larry i hail ooo. u too much.

Thanks ma'am. I'm glad to see that you're still following.

FOURTEEN

Doctor Bantu continued staring at Lot with total fascination, as if the gumshoe was a world-renowned movie star. Or rather like the kind of concentration you give at seeing for the first time the likes of Ojukwu, Mandela, Obama, Hitler and Archimedes.

“How did you hear about Mr. Malik’s death?” Bantu asked Lot.

“I’m asking the questions around here, not the other way round. Except if you’ve taken it upon yourself to investigate this case single-handedly. Then I wouldn’t have to linger here any longer.”

“Oh no, I’m sorry. I can’t do that, I wouldn’t know what steps to take. The significance of the bent blade of grass, the broken point of a pencil, the crack of the mirror, a strand of hair, a square peg in a triangular hole -- would appear meaningless to me."

“The detective work is more than going around on all fours to search for evidence and soiling your designer pair of trousers in the process. The detective work involves the study of how the criminal’s mind works and finding out truth through deductive reasoning.” Lot stopped and said, “I shouldn’t be telling you all these.”

“All what you said were Greek to me.”

“I thought as much. Anyway, I learnt that you’ve checked on the corpse, is that right?”

“That’s right, sir.” Bantu was visibly older than Lot but he didn’t seem to realize that. If he did, he didn’t acknowledge it.

“Apart from being a doctor, who are you to the deceased?”

“I’m just his doctor, nothing else.”

“Use one word to describe Mr. Malik.”

The doctor thought hard before finally replying, “Promiscuous.”

“Really?”

“I wonder how his wife kept up with him. The man always followed anything wearing a bra when he was alive.” He raised his hands, saying, “I know, I know, it is wrong to speak ill of the dead. And I know you don’t like it.”

“As far as I’m concerned, the dead are the innocent, no matter how grave their crimes could have been before their deaths.”

“Mr. Jamal Malik slept with five of my nurses, even the married ones. He was just a pathological skirt-chaser. He was always being treated for social diseases.”

“The man had an adventurous life,” Lot nodded, “I hope you had nothing against him for his actions.”

“No, nothing,” replied Bantu, “I’ve just never seen anyone with a libido that matched his. He could have a platoon of illegitimate children at the other side of the blanket.”

“If he did, I hope they showed up,” Lot commented, “Did Mr. Malik have any enemy when he was alive?”

The doctor suddenly laughed. “Any enemies?” he sputtered, “Any? Sir, he had more enemies than Tuface has fans. You’ve got to get in line to hate him. Most of his foes belonged in the feminine class.”

“What is your report about the deceased’s death? I should like to hear your own medical story before I continue my inquisition among the family members.” He turned to Daniel, “While Doctor Bantu is telling me about the murder, would you mind drawing me a rough plan of the house? One can’t wander about so big a place as this and still understand the arrangement of quarters.”

Doctor Bantu reached into a folder and came up with a document which he now placed on the large table. He was looking in the text of the document as he spoke:

“The deceased died from a close stab from a very sharp knife. I think the murderer brought the knife mainly to do the deed. It is a knife with serrated blade and a distinctive triangular chip in the handle. The absence of serious bleeding along the deep wound indicated that death occurred very rapidly following infliction of the injury. No defensive injuries were present. I give the cause of death as a stab wound to the spine.”

“What kind of knife is it exactly? A kitchen knife?”

“A boning knife. The killer must have known a lot about knives. This knife is not the kind you find at common stores where kitchen utensils are sold. It could easily have been a product of the Peruvians.”

“The Peruvians?” Lot repeated the statement. It was a statement which needed explaining.

“The Peruvians make blades so sharp that some people can’t even feel the initial incision when they are cut. Most kitchen knives are known to be produced by the Germans, and it is plain that this particular isn’t meant for domestic uses.”

Daniel was listening to the two men with rapt attention.

“This weapon used on the victim,” Bantu continued, “is of a thin-pointed blade about 12centimetres long. The blade, especially the top, is very sharp. Other boning knives possess blades which angle upward, but the one we are talking about is straight. The choice of the killer’s weapon flexibility and angle option is somewhat personal.”

“You mean to tell me the killer used a knife carved for murder?” Lot asked. “I know of only two knives used particularly for that; a marine k-bar and a hunting knife, both without serrations.”

“Many knives, almost all knives can be used to commit murder. There are skinning knives, military knives, ceremonial knives, and four hundred and twenty-three different kinds of knives.”

Daniel intruded in the conversation, “I don’t know about boning knives, but I know about chef’s knives, decorating knives, vegetable peelers, butcher trimming, filleting knives, carving knives and paring knives.”

“The doctor looked at him for a moment and said, “Thanks for nothing.” Like most prophets, Daniel was fated to be ignored. The doctor turned to Lot, “The kind of knife the murderer used on the victim can as well be used for separating meat and disconnecting tissues from bones during butchering and trimming. The tip of the knife can do most of the task because it’s quite sharply pointed.”

“You know a lot about knives.” Lot observed.

Doctor Bantu smiled, he obviously saw that he had caught his audience and it was clear from his mannerism and pauses that he enjoyed telling a story. He was greatly mollified at regarding himself a person of such magnanimous importance in such a sensational case, but he had a flair for description and vivid pantomime.

“Not quite,” he tried to show modesty, “I’m just lucky to know a little bit about this particular kind of knife. My cousin was stabbed with this particular kind of knife fourteen years ago. He was a lecturer; we were told that he was stabbed by one of his students, but the murderer was never caught.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

“If I had known you at the time, the criminal would have probably been caught.”

“Probably. Now, kindly tell me everything you know about the weapon.”

The doctor shrugged, “I’ve already said all I know, except that boning knives are generally held reversed in the hand and extreme care must be taken to keep the knife pointed away from your body. It is not the kind of knife you use on frozen food or partially frozen meat as force generally requires to be applied and a slip may result in serious injury or even death.”

“You mean to say it is a dangerous weapon even to its handler?”

“To a careless handler, yes. It could be harmful to the attacker wielding it.”

“Do you have any close estimate of the time of death?”

“I think the death occurred between midnight and 2a.m. that’s judging by body temperature and the extent of rigor. I may be able to narrow it down after autopsy but it’s quite likely. Estimating the time of death is always a tricky business. I can only smell out the moment of death through the degree of coldness of that night, which can inadvertently speed up rigor mortis.”

There was a curious expression on Lot’s face; not contemptuous, not humorous, not bored, but a mixture of the three. He said, “Thanks a lot, Doctor Bantu, you’ve been more helpful than enough. Thanks a lot.”

“I’ll be leaving for the morgue to make an official report which would be attached to the autopsy note. Are you sure you won’t be needing me anymore?”

“We won’t be for now.”

“Then I suppose I can leave you two to go on with your investigations,” he stood up and added, “I have absolute fate in you about solving this murder, Detective Lot.” He frowned and added, “But if you want to know what the deceased had in the stomach before his death you’ll have to wait until—”

“Don’t be flippant, doctor. You may leave now.”

The doctor walked out of the room cowered.

maputohq: ...







Am I to say something?.

I think so. Just say anything.

alizenbohr: Lord of the Flies

I still remember how those English kids became savages on that island...
…still remember Simon's meeting with the 'lord of the flies'

Following still. You've got a fan in me.

Thank you, sir. You seem to have read widely.

Flakeey: whoaaaaa
dis update is soo good

i'm very sure Det. Lot heard every word from the interrogation, he might just pretended he didn't listen.

And it turns out you were right.

Flakeey: i remembered how Lot interrogated dat old soldier gateman in Brand of Cain..lol

That man gave Lot a tough time. Lol! They didn't like each other much.

Bless you, ma'am.

pricelesslove: Nawa for detective Lot ooo. tea wey him don drink from na he na him think say dem poison. he is very funny. btw well done Larry.

The detective can be quite weird if he puts his mind to it.

Thanks ma'am.

Daniel watched all these with fascination, he actually caught the detective wink at the woman before he returned his attention to the note he was decoding, leaving he and the woman to the interview in process.

But Daniel was out of questions to ask now.

The maid seemed to sense it too and said, “”In the absence of any other question, can I leave now? I’ve got some dishes to clean in the kitchen.”

His question came suddenly, “No, not yet. You saw the weapon used on Mr. Malik.”

“A knife.”

“Do you recognize the knife?”

“Why would I recognize it?”

“You’d recognize the knife if it was taken from the kitchen.”

“I only saw the handle; the rest of the knife was embedded in Mr. Malik’s spine already.”

“You should have recognized the handle if it belonged in the kitchen.”

“I’ve never seen the knife before.”

“Are you very sure about that?”

“I’m certain.”

“I’m surprised, really.”

“Why?”

“I thought I heard you say you were short-sighted.”

“That’s true. I am.”

“I remember that the night we rushed to the door you weren’t wearing your glasses.”

“I told you I don’t like wearing glasses.”

“Though short-sighted you are but you were able to identify the handle of the knife as the one not from the kitchen. In that dark night? Come on. As much as I would like to believe you, the defense isn’t plausible enough.”

“I shall not be entrapped by your word games. I didn’t say I identified the knife that night.”

Daniel was visibly baffled, “How do you mean?”

“I mean I saw the knife early this morning.”

“How is that possible? The body was covered and the policemen were watching over the corpse all the while.”

“I saw it before the police arrived.”
“Are you kidding me?”

“No, I’m not. After we discovered and body and retired to our various rooms thereafter, I could not sleep; I kept thinking about the corpse and who would be so cold-blooded to stab Mr. Malik to death.”

“Go on.”

“Then something which happened after the horrible scream repeated itself.”

“Are you saying that there was another dash across your window?”

“Dawn was already approaching when it happened again. The figure’s identity eluded me again. Hoping to catch the person this time, I put on my glasses and came out of my room. I went out through one of the back doors and tried to follow the runner back to the front of the building where the corpse lay.”

“Did you find that particular door locked or otherwise?”

“Otherwise; it was unlocked. I believe the runner unlocked it. I didn’t find the runner when I reached the front of the house but the position I found the body was not how it was left; the sheet we used to cover it had been flung off and the body appeared to have been turned. Dead people have the right to be handled with care, at least. I went to the body and covered it with the sheet. That was how I had a close view of the knife. It isn’t the kind of knife I use in the kitchen. From the way the handle glimmered under the moon, I think the knife is new. It has never been used before, except, of course, on Mr. Malik.”

“You seem to know much about knives.”

“My grandfather was a retired soldier, he taught me a lot about weapons before his death. He was very fond of me; I took after him in stature, if you know what I mean.”

“What can you say about Mr. Malik?”

“Say about him?”

“What kind of man was he? How would you describe him from your own perspective?”

“He was quite a wonderful man. And he loved his wife more than anything. I’ve never seen anyone loved someone as much as he did his wife. The fact that she was sightless didn’t in any way diminish the great love he had for her. He literally worshipped her. I hope more of our men can learn how to love like he did.”

“What about his wife? Did you love him as much as he loved her?”

“I’m not sure. The woman is blind and helpless. But I suppose she must have loved him too. Her blindness makes her irritable and easily-angered. But Mr. Malik was the most patient and enduring man I have ever seen.”

“Did you like him?”

Gladys shrugged, “I respected him. He could be a little frightening at times, a little impatient. If he gave an instruction he didn’t like to have to repeat it. He was very efficient himself and he expected it in others. But he was very fair, very considerate.”

“Thanks a lot, Miss Simon. You’ve been such a great help. You shall be summoned if we need to ask you some more questions. You can leave now.”

The fat lady stood with effort and left the room."

Daniel turned to Lot, beaming, “How did I perform?”

Lot took his eyes off the book before him and replied, “You did great. I’m impressed.”

“She said—”

“You don’t need to educate me on what she said; I heard everything you two discussed. I couldn’t have put those questions any better. Well done, Famous.”

“I thought you weren’t listening to us; I thought you were particularly devoted to deciphering the content of the note.”

“The note took me only ten minutes to crack. I was stalling because the lady seemed to be more comfortable answering your question, except for some very few situations where she threatened to disagree with your mental capabilities. Besides that, you asked the questions near-perfectly.”

“So, how about the note? You said you have connected the missing dots. I still don’t see how that can be possible.”

“Of course, it’s possible; but I’ve not connected all the dots, as you put it. I only cracked a fraction of the note.”

“I don’t understand. You said moments ago that you’ve decoded the content of the note.”

“I only succeeded in deciphering the first twenty lines. The last five defy all logic; these ones appeared to have been culled from a certain poem or so. As much as I tried to break them, I was stumped.”

“Can I see the ones you’ve broken?”

“Not yet.”

“Why?”

“We need to question someone else first.”

“Who?”

“The doctor. Call in Doctor Bantu.”

“Yes, sir.”

But before Daniel went out, he made sure he drank two cups from the tea.”

Dygeasy: twice on the other thread. You could have just taken out the usernames. The mentions you know.

Which other thread? You mean the one about L.U.T.T? Anyway, whatever error inherent in any thread isn't intentional.

Dygeasy: Larry how far na? You quoted that post thrice

Indeed? My bad. The mod should hide the unnecessary.

Royver: Larrysun
Sammyhoe/ Sammy hoe
Audrey Timm
Princesa
Prettyspicey
Davep
Temitope Daniel
Texanomaly
Firestar
Justice enam/Justiceenam
Spiceyeva/Spice eva
Queenxstar
Noble4d
Flakkydagirl
TiffanyJ
Missyhorlah
Tp ia5
AdebayoOmolara
Timpaker
Dorisbest
Lorlaahlorzz
D9ty7
TheRock5555
Orikinla
OmA4u
Dammygoody
Kingphilip
Dygeasy
Divepen(thanks for the list )

This is to formerly invite the above people to my thread. You are welcome sirs and ma's. Please let me know what you think. Thanks.

As usual if your name hasn't been mentioned in any of my invites please accept my apologies and feel free to comment nonetheless.
Thanks to everyone who has been following, you guys and ladies make the whole thing worthwhile. God bless.

I'm sure you meant 'formally'. Okay, following.

Divepen: I am sorry for disrespecting you people this way but If I try going through your Email one by one...
I migt be sending it to a wrong account and Nairaland limit the number one can send per time/Day
Please I need to urgently talk you and would you to either
give me your active email address as I need to send a message to you sirs and ma..or you can send a message to Martinspaul22@gmail.com/ even send it to the one from Nairaland
Larrysun
Sammyhoe/ Sammy hoe
Audrey Timm
Princesa
Prettyspicey
Davep
Temitope Daniel
Texanomaly
Firestar
Justice enam/Justiceenam
Spiceyeva/Spice eva
Queenxstar
Noble4d
Flakkydagirl
TiffanyJ
Missyhorlah
Tpia5
AdebayoOmolara
Timpaker
Dorisbest
Lorlaahlorzz
D9ty7
TheRock5555
Royver
Orikinla
OmA4u
Dammygoody
Kingphilip
Dygeasy

I don't understand what this message means. Can anyone please explain? Anyway, my mail address is on my signature.

Divepen: I am sorry for disrespecting you people this way but If I try going through your Email one by one...
I migt be sending it to a wrong account and Nairaland limit the number one can send per time/Day
Please I need to urgently talk you and would you to either
give me your active email address as I need to send a message to you sirs and ma..or you can send a message to Martinspaul22@gmail.com/ even send it to the one from Nairaland
Larrysun
Sammyhoe/ Sammy hoe
Audrey Timm
Princesa
Prettyspicey
Davep
Temitope Daniel
Texanomaly
Firestar
Justice enam/Justiceenam
Spiceyeva/Spice eva
Queenxstar
Noble4d
Flakkydagirl
TiffanyJ
Missyhorlah
Tpia5
AdebayoOmolara
Timpaker
Dorisbest
Lorlaahlorzz
D9ty7
TheRock5555
Royver
Orikinla
OmA4u
Dammygoody
Kingphilip
Dygeasy

I don't understand what this message means. Can anyone please explain?

Feanad: Hello Larry Sun
It's been so long ago. How have you been? Hoping to read from you soon
feyisayoadeyemi@gmail.com

I'll send one of my short stories tonight.

Bless you.

THIRTEEN

Gladys Simon was the maid of the house, and she gathered much weight than every member of the house. She was a fantastically large person; nearly as round as she was tall. Bosoms the size of pillows, fine hulking shoulders, a neck made to burst restraining collars, and the square but proud face of a fattened bull. A whale of a woman. There was no other word to describe her; a great, big, cheesy-looking woman, wallowing in fat. Double, treble, quadruple layers of neck which slept on each other like puppies. Her head was a massive representation of Titanic’s hull. Her clothes featured short sleeves and her exposed arms were as big as those of a bodybuilder, although without muscle definition – immense, smooth, black. Her hands were also enormous; great, big, fat hands with great, big, fat, shapeless fingers.

When Gladys was still nothing but a flat-chested seven-year-old adolescent, she had always admired ladies of prominent jigglers. Then she had come across an article in an old magazine about enlarging your breasts through the power of positive thinking. Since then she had fallen asleep most nights picturing herself with massive hooters. The author of the article was probably full of poop, but Gladys’ positive thoughts began to manifest a year later, and she continued dozing herself to a massive C-cup. She continued growing in style and kind. Every time she checked herself in a mirror, she smiled contentedly. Soon, the positive manifestation became a horror when other parts of her body began to increase tremendously. Even till this moment, her two gigantic mountains were still erupting. She had once taken a moment to wonder what would have become the fate of humanity if she had dwelt on the power of negative thinking.

She was horrible, Daniel thought. A great, black, creased, slobbering mass of fat was her face. And set in it were two rather desperate small eyes. Very shrewd eyes looking on the world; appraising it, appraising Daniel. Not appraising Lot, he noticed. He believed Lot was here by command, by appointment’ however he would like to put it. And Daniel felt comfortable thinking it in the former. Lot had been here out of curiosity but partly at his behest, so he surmised that the detective’s presence was manifested under his own command. He kept this to himself, for he knew that he had no one to kid but self.

It was at him that Gladys was looking, as if she were seeing him just for the first time. As if a fascinating bump had grown at the tip of his nose and Gladys could do nothing but stare. After a moment, her eyes wondered about the room without curiosity. She looked back at him, summing him up again. All these were what Daniel should be doing – appraising suspects with his eyes, but alas, the boot was on the other leg! He noticed that Lot did not bother to even take a sneak-peek at them. The older man appeared to be entirely devoted to the burnt piece of paper he was critically studying; and he was jotting something in a notepad beside him. That moment, neither Gladys nor Daniel existed to Lot.

Not knowing from where to begin, Daniel started by asking: “How old are you, Miss--?”

“I’m thirty-five this year.”

But she looked fifty-five, Daniel thought.

The lady caught him staring this time and took offence, “Did you call me here only to stare or to ask questions? Maybe I should turn my back at you since it seems like my chest is not allowing you to concentrate.”

“Oh, I’m very sorry, madam. Please forgive me. But it wasn’t your chest I was looking at.”

“The name is Gladys. Gladys Simon, not ‘madam’.”

“Right,” He was a complete flux about interrogative procedures. He tried to recall how Lot had questioned his first suspect who had mounted the first rung of the interrogatory ladder three years prior at the Martins’ manse. All he could come up to say next was:

“For how long have you been working in this house?”

“It’s been about four years now. I came a year after the driver.”

“And where is the driver now?”

“He left for his hometown four days ago. The landlord himself discharged him with two other women; the cleaner and the cook.”

“Why were you not discharged?”

“He wanted me to wait and prepare the meals for the family. He said I could take my own break after the festive seasons.”

“Are you the cook too?”

“I oversee the activities of the other women. I do their works when they’re absent; just like now, someone has to take care of the house. Even when Esther was still in secondary school and the other two women had not been employed, I was the housekeeper; Mrs. Jamal needed my help, considering her situation.”

Daniel now realized that there was not really a definite method of interrogation, coercion aside. Ask random questions and the suspect’s reply would spur another question. Of course, there was no method but there were usually some tricks experienced interrogators use force out words out of non-responsive suspects’ mouths. He considered himself lucky that the maid was at least cooperative in her replies. If otherwise, he’d be completely at a loss about what to do and Lot would not be patting him on the back for his result.

He asked, “Was Mrs. Malik blind before you began working here?”

She nodded, “She was.”

“Do you know if she was born blind?” he asked the question suddenly. He looked at Lot to see if the question jolted him, but the detective seemed not to be hearing his words. Lot was totally engrossed in deciphering the content of the note. The frown lines on the older man’s forehead were tautly drawn that veins projected hence.

Daniel turned his attention to the maid for a reply, but he caught Gladys looking at him as if he’d just wetted himself.

“I’m not in the best position to answer such question, Mr. Famous,” she replied, “If you are so curious about knowing that, you My ask the concerned subject yourself. I’m sure she’ll give you a befitting reply.”

“You said you’ve been here four years, you must have heard something about the cause of her blindness.”

“I told you, I don’t know. Even if I knew I wouldn’t tell you. It’s not my place to answer such question. I’m only a maid here.”

“Okay,” Daniel sighed, “Are you married?”

Gladys glared at him, “I don’t know why that is any of your business, mister.”
“Just answer the question, please. And the name is Daniel, not ‘mister’.”

“The question is inconsequential to the murder of Mr. Jamal Malik.”

“We decide what is and what is not consequential to the case of Mr. Malik’s demise. And I didn’t tell you Mr. Malik’s death was murder; what made you say it was murder?"

She rolled her eyes up into her head, as if to say that the only place she was going to find common sense was inside her own skull. “If stabbing someone to death in the back isn’t murder to you, I wonder what is.”

The lady, he agreed, was smarter than he gave her credit for. She knew her ways about answering questions without putting her own thick neck in the fence.

“Let’s come back to my initial question. Are you married, madam?”

She took her time before answering the question, “No, I’m not married. I’ve never been married.”

“Why is that?”

“Because men are so vain,” she looked at him squarely in the eyes, “A woman has to make just a single mistake and she’ll be regarded cheap. And some silly men will only see your thigh as the extension of their armchairs. But when men act promiscuously they’re always regarded heroes by their comrades. No, I’ll never get married.” She spoke determinedly.

Daniel wanted to convince her otherwise but he knew arguing with the big woman would seem awkward and unprofessional. So, he asked, “Do you have any child, Miss Simon? A son or daughter?”

“Seeing what some children can do to their parents has robbed me of the desire to breed. I’m sorry if that upsets you.”

“Why would I be upset by your decision to remain a celibate?”

The woman shook her head from left to right twice, “You’re not the sweetest spice in the stew.”

Daniel was ashamed of himself. It was Lot alone who knew about his gullibility, now this woman was a new discoverer.

“How many children did Mr. and Mrs. Jamal have?”

“They’re four, as far as I know. The eldest is Mrs. Ruth Brown, followed by Mr. David Malik, then Mr. Gabriel, finally Miss Esther Malik. Two ladies, two men.”

“Thank you,” said he, “Now, what can you tell me about your boss’s death?”
“Nothing, I don’t know anything.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“I am sure.”

“Where were you last night?”

“I was in my room, of course.”

“What were you doing in your room? Sleeping?”

“Yes, sleeping, until the brief power failure.”

“So, you lay awake there in the darkness?”

“No, I’m afraid of the dark. As soon as the lights went off I quickly jumped out of my bed to reach for a match and candle. The lights came back on not long after I lit the candle. But I didn’t blow out the candle though, I was scared the power would go off again. Power is never trusted in this part of the state.”

“Then what happened next?”

“I was lying on the bed thinking when I heard a horrible scream. Oh, it was like a soul under torture. I pray never to hear such a scream again in my life!” she shuddered in disgust.

“Continue please.”

“I was shocked. My health has never been good; I’m nursing asthma and high blood pressure. So, I stayed rooted for some few seconds or minutes, I can’t calculate. Everything happened fast. When I recovered from the shock, I heard the sounds of footsteps approach the side of my window. I was afraid it was the screamer, or worse, the man who had caused the horrible scream of another. As the fast steps came closer, I backed away from the window and pressed my body in fright against the wall opposite. I’d have melted into the wall if it were humanly possible.”

“Go on.” Daniel urged.

“Then the figure ran past my window.”

“Who was the person?”

“I don’t know.”

“A man or woman?”

“I don’t know! The light was on in my room and the night beyond the window was quite dark. If you don’t know, I’m also near-sighted. I only saw the silhouette of the runner. I guess someone with better vision would have seen the runner more clearly.”

“You’re near-sighted yet you’re not wearing glasses.”

“I don’t need glasses to see close objects. I don’t need to wear glasses to see you and the detective because you’re both close to me, I can see you clearly. Besides, I hate wearing glasses anyway, the invention always makes me feel like Piggy.”

“Who is Piggy?”

“Haven’t you read Golding’s Lord of the Flies?”

“No, I haven’t. is Piggy a character in the novel?”

“Yes, he was a masculine and younger version of me. His pair of glasses was broken and he got killed because his sight was impaired. Near-sighted people are prone to more accidents than their far-sighted brethren.”

“Then what happened after the figure ran past your window?”

“I rushed out of the room into the corridor. I saw people running towards the main door.”

“Can you at least guess the identity of the runner?”

“The runner could be anybody, it could even be you.”

“It wasn’t me,” Daniel assured her, smiling humourlessly.

“Well, one thing I’m certain about is that the runner is either the murderer of Mr. Malik or he knows the identity of the killer. You’ve got to find out who the runner was.”

“What makes you think the runner is a ‘he’?”

“Excuse me?”

“You said ‘…or he knows the identity of the killer’. Why do you think it’s a ‘he’?”

“I’m sorry, I use ‘he’ when I don’t know the gender of whom I am talking about. Don’t you know that, Mr. Famous? By the way, why is it that you’re the one asking the questions here?”

“As you can see, the detective is quite busy. He gave me the liberty to ask the questions.”

“But you’re also a suspect, doesn’t he know that?”

“I’m sure he knows, but he trusts me implicitly.”

“Madam,” Lot suddenly intruded in the conversation, “I’ll like you to do something, that’s if you don’t mind.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“It’s simple. Just pour yourself a cup of tea.”

Gladys scoffed, “You think I poisoned it, don’t you?”

Lot nodded, “The thought crossed my mind, yes. You made the tea, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did. But I didn’t put poison in it.” She looked at Lot’s half-empty cup and added, “Why did you drink the tea if you believed that I poisoned it?”

“The tea was too good to pass.”

“Well, I didn’t poison the tea!”

“Then you won’t mind having a sip from your wonderfully-brewed beverage.”

“You’re impossible, detective. Do you know that?” she took a cup, poured herself the tea and drank. She reached to pour the second but Lot held her hand.

“That’s enough,” Lot said, smiling, “The first cup has convinced me enough.”

Behind you all the way.

AudreyTimms: Are u an editor? I min a professional one?

Not really.

pricelesslove: u are so creative. more ink to ur pen

Thanks a bunch, Priceless. God bless you, ma'am.

Flakeey: you are doing a great job

expecting more updates...

can't wait for the misery to unravel

Thanks Flake, update will come later today.

Dorisbest: thanks Larry. The book has been edited but you can still be helpful to me by editing the book below. Thanks again

Kindly send it as an Ms-Word attachment to my mailbox. My address is in my signature.

Good morning.

I think your grammar is a little bit wanting. If the work is as grammatically porous as you are communicating here, I'm sure the publisher will only offer you a paltry sum. I can help you to edit if you don't mind.

Bless you, ma'am.

elenwriter: Hello,

I write children's books and I'm working on one that has a charcter who is from Lagos visiting her granddaughter in the UK.
My question is, what would a girl call her Yoruban Grandmother? The Grandmother is her father's mother.

My research leads me to think it might be Iyagba, but I can't tell for sure.

What do you think?

Thanks,
Elen

You can still stick with 'Grandma', except if you're writing the book in Yoruba language, or you portray the granddaughter as a stark illiterate in the book. However though, you can rather use terms like 'Big Mummy/Granny/Mama'.

Seun! Mukina 2!! Mynd44!!! FRONT PAGE PLEASE.

I'll continue screaming until they move it.

alizenbohr: Now here's what I love about your stories - your apt description and subtle sense of humour.

Welldone!

Thanks a lot, bro. Just trying to chip in a few humour here and there; no matter how morbid some may seem.

alizenbohr: Would you mind teaching us this "dog-taming" trick?

I'll remember to ask Detective Lot anytime he takes another stroll around my imagination.